


Glistening

by ms45



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Master/Slave, m!dom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms45/pseuds/ms45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela wasn’t the only one who could make up stories. </p>
<p>D/s dom!Fenris, very bad sub!Isabela. Sequel to Were You Expecting Flowers or Something?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glistening

“So what duties did you have? As a slave, I mean?”

Fenris’ eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. “Not this again…”

“I heard that Tevinter slaves are kept oiled so they glisten. Did your master oil you up? Did you _glisten_ for him?”

“I was his _bodyguard_.” Fenris had often wondered about the Fereldan expression “for fuck’s sake”. He was starting to see the sense of it.

“Always close at hand. Always within reach. _Glistening_.” The pirate closed her eyes ecstatically, clearly enjoying a vivid picture in her mind’s eye.

“You have an entire story written in your head already, don’t you?”

“Mmmmm.”

Well, Isabela wasn’t the only one who could make up stories.

* * *

An urchin arrived at The Hanged Man with a message and a gift. The gift was a small bottle of scented oil. The recipient was Isabela. The message was not appropriate for public ears, and if Fenris had been confronted about it he would have pleaded illiteracy, but the pirate was quietly confident that the whole bar was indeed supposed to hear the detailed instructions. Isabela gave the urchin a copper and sent him away without comment.

When she did arrive at the mansion, dropping neatly through the roof about half an hour later than she had been instructed, she saw a table, a chair, and a large X marked on the floor. An immense book sat on the table, and next to it a platter piled high with fruit, cheese and bread. The sunlight from the roof shone almost exactly upon the X.

She was sorely tempted to just sit in the chair and start eating, but it didn’t take a Grand Cleric to work out what Fenris had in mind. Isabela looked forward to being very bad at everything she was ordered to do except be naked and glistening. She removed her clothing as instructed, stashing it behind one of the ugly statues, and stood on one of the arms of the X, halfway into the shadows. She was not very surprised at all when a deep voice from behind her said “You’re late.”

Turning up towards the balcony, she waved the little bottle. “I’m also not glistening.”

“You have your instructions.” The elf rested his elbows on the balustrade, making no move to join her.

Popping the cork on the bottle, Isabela waved it under her nose, inhaling the vibrant, citrus scent. Making eye contact, she poured it slowly and deliberately over her chest, letting it ooze over her breasts and drop to the floor. She then turned around and, bowing her head and putting a finger over the mouth of the bottle, poured it over her back, where it flowed down and into the juncture of her buttocks.

Pouring a small amount into her hands, she began rubbing her breasts in great round strokes, facing away from the elf. “Turn around,” he snarled, and she did, rolling her eyes dramatically. She was now highlighted in the afternoon sunlight, bronzed and, yes, glistening.

She spent a long time rubbing her breasts this way and that, occasionally swiping long strokes over her belly and thighs, hugging herself to cover her arms so that her breasts peeked out between her elbows. The elf got up from the balustrade and silently padded downstairs to join her, while she slid her hands over her muscular arse, turning to ensure he would have the best view.

He was not wearing his armour, and he placed a careful hand on her shoulder where it curved into her neck while he used the other to wipe the oil over her back in gentle, circular motions. She shivered – he’d never touched her like this before, and the lyrium in his hands was rough like pumice. He squeezed her right buttock when he was done and sat in the chair, making a ‘turn around’ gesture with his fingers which she obeyed immediately, then regretted. Still, there’d be plenty of time for a good hard paddling, she hoped.

“I have some study to do. Feed me.” He pulled the book onto his lap and she saw it was the Chant of Light, possibly a gift from that unctuous git with the pretty eyes. She had to lean over him to reach the platter, feeling his breath against the side of her left breast, and she went for the bunch of grapes because that seemed like the traditional thing to do. Picking off a small branch, she perched herself on the arm of the chair and leaned forward to stuff them in his mouth. He bit one off with his perfect white teeth, then shoved her away because she was “in the way of the light”.

_Fine, you little bastard._ She stood to the side, making sure he could see her, and picked grapes off the bunch one by one, holding them up with her fingers and getting a little zing down her spine when his lips occasionally brushed against her. He spent a lot of time on the same page, keeping his thumb at the line he was working on, not actually moving his lips to read but frowning a little at particularly difficult words. His eyes never left the page as he received her morsels, although he would move his head from time to time to make sure he didn’t drop anything.

Eventually she ran out of grapes and had to pick something, so once again leaning across Fenris’ lap (and being rewarded by a swift slap on her arse), she picked up a wedge of soft cheese. Standing up straight, she pulled a small knife from her boots, which drew a raised eyebrow from Fenris.

“You didn’t say anything about being unarmed,” she said, slicing a dollop of the gooey cheese and offering it to him with her fingers. Opening his mouth to take it, he closed his eyes to savour the pungent flavour, then flashed them open, green and glowering. _Oooh, there’s no_ way _he doesn’t know the effect that has._

“I will need to be more thorough in my instructions. Give me the knife.”

“But then how am I supposed to - ?” But he merely held his hand out, and she gave him the knife, now folded in on itself. He didn’t need to know about the throwing stars in the other boot.

Of course, now she was left naked, covered in oil and with a handful of gooey cheese. She assumed Fenris had some kind of aim in providing inconvenient foods to a naked servant with no knives, so she pinched a bit out of its white, floury shell and smeared it on a nipple. “Here,” she said, leaning back over him to place the cheese back on the platter. In doing so, she brought her breasts right in his face where he couldn’t miss her intent.

Fenris glared at her, but took her breast gently in his fingers and placed her nipple in his mouth, gently and lightly sucking on it with only the slightest brush of teeth, swirling his tongue around to get every bit of cheese. She gasped at the tingling sensation, but then he pulled his hand away and whacked her sharply on the left buttock. “That was not my intent. I am not here to indulge you. Kneel in front of me.”

She sank to her knees in a familiar gesture of prayer, but the elf shook his head. “On your hands and knees. Face away from me.” She turned around, and he stretched out his legs and rested his feet on her back. His heels fit neatly into the curve of her buttocks, and as she peeked out of the corner of one eye she saw him pop an almond into his mouth while he carefully turned the page of the giant book.

Great. Now he was going to punish her by being boring. She stayed still for a time, head down, knees apart, hoping the sight would inspire him to do something brilliant, but from what she could see he continued to eat and read. At least, she thought he was reading – if not, he had the patience of a Chantry brother. It would certainly explain why he got along so well with Sebastian.

Minutes passed in silence.

The air was warmer than it had been on Isabela’s last visit, and felt pleasantly balmy on her bare skin. Once again, she was conscious of every part of herself, the weight of the elf’s feet in the small of her back, the pressure of the floor on her booted knees, the weight of her breasts as they dangled underneath her. She could feel a trickle in her pussy as she contemplated the view from above, and she squeezed the muscles together to contain it.

Somewhat to her surprise, the elf slid one of his feet around her arse and tickled at her muff with long, tattooed toes. She bit back a yelp as he combed through the hair, spreading the lips with his big toe and slowly dragging it over her clit. And then he stopped, and crossed his ankles, and presumably went back to his book, if he had ever left it.

Encouraged, she started slowly swaying her hips from side to side in the hope of getting a response. This backfired, as his response was to pick the book up and cradle it in his arms to read. It was a thick, massive tome, but the elf spent his life swinging around a massive sword – carrying a book would not weary him quickly. Peeking over her shoulder, Isabela noted his trimly muscular forearm, flexed to take the book’s weight, and delicate, artistic hand gripping the spine. Damn him, she wanted those hands gripping _her_ spine. Then she realised what was missing, and could have kicked herself.

“Master?”

The elf lowered the book just enough to glare at her over the top.

“I could bring you wine, if you would allow it.”

“ _If_ I would allow it. Silence.” But she had planted a seed, and after a few minutes more had passed – minutes he spent placing his feet on each buttock and squeezing, so probably not too absorbed in his reading – he poked at her with his toes, saying “Fetch me a drink.”

She went to get up, and a hand clamped on her shoulder. “On your knees. You can see a cupboard over there – crawl to it.” So he _had_ thought of everything. She crawled slowly, emphasising every time she raised her hips, undulating her back. Arriving at the cupboard, she opened it with her teeth and found a stack of bottles and some rather grotty glasses. She pulled out a bottle and a glass and, impulsively, put them on her back to crawl back to Fenris. This idea worked much better in her head, as even moving very slowly she found that they were in continual danger of sliding off her oily back, so much so that she was less than halfway across the quite short distance when Fenris sardonically ordered “Stand _up_ , wench.”

She stood in front of him, glass in one hand and bottle in the other, and asked “My knife, o Master? It has a corkscrew in it.” Fenris took the bottle from her, took her knife from one of his many pockets, opened the bottle, gave it back for her to pour and hid the knife back in his belt. She poured him a substantial glass and went to put the glass to his lip, but he took it off her with some irritation and said “Put your foot on the strut. No, like this - “ With the end result that she was standing next to him with her bush almost at face level, so he could drink, read and fondle her arse at the same time.

His face remained unreadable, and in any case it was buried in his book. If he felt elated, smug, or even aroused, he wasn’t showing it. No, that wasn’t quite right – he took great pleasure in the wine, swirling it in the glass so great fat ropes wriggled down the sides, inhaling blissfully before taking a long sip, running his tongue over his lips to get every deep ruby drop. On the other hand, literally, he idly looped his hands between her legs and grabbed hold of her bum, squeezing a bit but seemingly paying no attention to her.

Isabela could feel his arm brushing up against her muff, his thumb tickling her arse crack, and when she went to lean over to take a banana he clamped down hard, calmly saying “Stand. _Still_.” She fell back into position with a huff, which he chose to ignore.

It took him so freaking _long_ to finish a bloody page, but ‘bela had to admit she was rather enjoying the elf’s limited focus of attention. She was quite proud of her arse muscles, if she did say so herself. And she was idly thinking that this probably bore no resemblance to the elf’s actual duties, and _why are you thinking about that you’ll kill the buzz_ , when he slid his hand down, stroking gently to find the right place, inserted two fingers into her vagina and, wetting them thoroughly, used them to turn the page. She almost saw stars, but bit down a gasp.

Fenris slipped his hand back between her legs, his thumb resting lightly over her opening. Thinking to generate some friction, Isabela moved to take some fruit from the platter only to have Fenris interrupt “When I _want_ something, I will _ask_.” She leaned back on her heels.

She wanted so badly to thrust into his hand, but calculated that if she moved he’d remove his hand, whereas if she stood perfectly still, he’d get bored and start fingering. Fidgeting. Whatever. So, with a superhuman effort of will – for Isabela was not one for delaying gratification – she stood perfectly still, eyes on the creepy statue on the opposite wall, one hand at her side and the other resting on her raised knee. _Glistening_.

Her groin tingled from the light pressure Fenris applied with his thumb, and as expected, he began to move it slowly, sliding over her folds, never pushing inside, never quite reaching where she really wanted him to be. The elf continued to read, frowning at the pages of the huge book, one elegant hand minding his place as the other drove Isabela to distraction.

The sunlight slowly faded.

Isabela’s core expanded as Fenris’s thumb caressed her folds, sliding easily through the soaked skin, occasionally making a tiny _slurp_ noise. Her breathing became irregular, her eyes rolled as she mentally grovelled for him to insert a finger, insert _all_ of them, just do _something_. Then he slipped a finger, oh so lightly, over her anus, almost as if it were unintentional, and she let out an undignified “hurrrrrrrrrrr”. For that, he punished her by removing his hand entirely, turning the page and letting his hand rest on the arm of the chair.

She waited to see what he would do next – perhaps a demeaning, trivial task, perhaps a pose to be struck to emphasise her breasts or buttocks, maybe a demand for sexual services ( _please, I know you want my arse, just ask_ ).

After some time had passed, the elf looked up at her with those puppy eyes he saved for when he really wanted something. _Oh Maker_ , she thought. _This is going to be good._

“I tire of your presence. You may leave.”


End file.
